


By the Fire

by kaitlia777



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:52:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, all you need is a moment of peace</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Fire

The CBI had been called in to consult on a spree of murders in the San Bernardino Mountains, centering around the city of Big Bear Lake. It was a bit of a trek, but well within their jurisdiction. Bags had been packed in anticipation of spending several nights in the mountain town. Patrick had been pleasantly surprised by the accommodations. Normally, they ended up in some franchised, cookie cutter hotel, but this time they’d booked rooms at a large B&B.

There was even a fireplace surrounded by plush leather couches in the lobby and a dining room that served homemade food in the mornings.

On the fourth day of their investigation, snow had started to fall around 9am and hadn’t let up at 2pm when they caught the unpleasant individual responsible for the recent deaths. In fact, it only seemed to be coming down harder. The forecast was a bit grim, predicting a slow moving blizzard stalling over the region for the next several days. The roads were already treacherous, as drivers unused to snowy conditions encountered difficulty.

Hightower had ordered them to stay put until it highway patrol declared the roads safe again.

That was how they found themselves in the odd situation of being stranded in a ski town with no work to do. As soon as they’d discovered they would be staying for a few days, Van Pelt lobbied (successfully) for a trip to one of the shops to purchase more weather appropriate clothing. Once they were outfitted with warm clothes, Rigsby followed Van Pelt, who was delighted by the snow, out for a walk while Cho went to his room to call Elise or perhaps read a book.

Patrick found himself sitting in the lobby with Lisbon, enjoying the warm fire. He in an arm chair and she on the end of a couch. Neither of them were overly fond of the weather and Lisbon groused, “This is California. We’re not supposed to get blizzards.”

“Well, it is November and this is a town with a ski resort,” he reasoned, then glanced around the lobby. Meghan, the 15 year old daughter of the couple who owned the inn was walking in with a sling full of logs. He smiled at her and asked, “Get snow like this often, Meghan?”

The girl, flushed from the chill outside, had snow clinging to her dark hair. “We get a couple of big storms a year and lots of smaller ones. Everyone thinks all of California is like LA, but I like to say we’re more like Colorado.”

“Colorado?” Lisbon asked curiously, “Why Colorado?”

Grinning, she finished stacking the logs in the rack and said, “I like Colorado.”

He chuckled at the simple response, as did Lisbon. Before leaving the room, Meghan offered, “We’re going to be putting out an evening meal in the dining hall at 6 o’clock. Have a nice evening!”

With that, she ducked away and Lisbon met Jane’s eyes. “I guess things could be worse.”

“Yes, this is far preferable to an oven like shipping container,” he teased, knowing a reference to that incident would at least draw an amused eye roll.

She reacted as expected, but laughed before saying, “There is that.”

Patrick chuckled again, tipping his head back and closing his eyes for a moment. Hearing a rustle of clothing and the creak of leather, he cracked an eye to peer over at Lisbon. She had shifted, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

He knew she didn’t really like it when he watched her, hell, she hated it, but it was one of his favorite past times. So he had to be covert about it. In a way, that added a bit of fun to the whole process.

At first, he made the initial, obvious observations. She was tired, they all were. Long hours had been put into resolving the case and none of them had gotten enough sleep. She was cold, the thermal shirt she wore not quite enough to stave of the chill in the air. She was watching him….

He drew a breath, unable to help the way his chest seized in that moment. The firelight cast dancing amber waves in her green eyes, making him think of a summer evening, even in the midst of a snowstorm. Warmth and a bright, pure…happiness followed. He was glad to be there, sitting by the fire with her.

Sometimes, when the night was dark and he was alone in his house, laying on a bare mattress, staring at the gruesome smile on the wall, he wondered if it was possible to be both alive and dead at the same time. Those were the times when he felt dead inside, save for the rage and hate and lust for revenge. Those were the times when he imagined turning Red John’s own knife on him, slicing through soft flesh and feeling the hot rush of blood on his own hands as the evil man bled out before him.

Those were the time when he figured he was already damned and mostly dead, any repercussions would be worth it.

But those nights were coming less often. He slept on the sofa in Lisbon’s office whenever possible and had even purchased a futon (an evil, uncomfortable thing) for the empty living room of his empty house. Occasionally, he would be tired enough to pass out on it, something he could never do with Red John’s mark watching him, judging him, taunting him.

A part of him hated himself for doing that, for sparing himself from a few hours of self recriminations. A part of him, the part ruled by his hate and anger, screamed and cursed and railed against anything that might be seen as a comfort. After all, his wife and child had been given no mercy, so why should he?

Another voice, one that grew stronger seemingly by the day, asked him if that was how his wife would have wanted him to live his life. She had been a good woman, sweet and kind, always seeing the best in people. She’d looked past his flash and charm and for some reason had still loved him. She believed in forgiveness.

That made her a far better person than he.

He knew he’d never be able to forgive what had been doe to his family, but perhaps he could live a life that consisted of something more than one bloody, single minded purpose.

These moments of peace, of happiness, happened most often around his friends, his team. One of Cho’s sly remarks would make him laugh, a burst of honest joy. Rigsby and Van Pelt, young and in love, despite the rules that sought to keep them apart, they made him smile and remember happier times.

And then there was Lisbon. She got under his skin like no other, pushing and prodding, while not crossing any lines they had drawn. Lines that were constantly shifting and blurring and, in parts, falling away.

She’d asked him once to reconsider his plans to kill Red John, told him she would have to arrest him if he succeeded in his quest. He knew she meant it and he also knew she hoped not to have to follow though with that promise. He’d told her that he understood, and he was okay with the idea of being sent to prison if it meant killing the man who murdered his family.

He just wished he could do it without hurting her. ‘Cause he knew it would hurt her and somewhere along the line, he’d begun to care. He liked it when she smiled and, in a moment of weakness he attributed to slight heat stroke, he’d told her he’d always save her. What startled him more was the fact that he had meant it. He hadn’t been able to save his family, but he’d be damned if he was going to let anything happen to her.

It had shaken him to the core and sent him scrambling off with Kristina Frye on a pancake date. He could respect Kristina’s skill, she was almost as good as he had been, back when he’d been pulling the fake psychic act, but she wasn’t someone that truly touched him through her one merits. She had gotten to him using the memory of his daughter, assuring him that she hadn’t suffered. Not for a minute did he believe her psychic claims, but still, she had managed to break him down, just a little.

Not something he considered a building block in a healthy relationship.

Lisbon…Teresa never tried to use his family against him, but he knew if he wanted to talk about them, she would listen. She tried to save him from himself no matter how hard he fought against her.

He was tired of fighting. He was tired of being angry. He was just tired.

Before he could reconsider, he pushed himself up and off of the couch, shrugging out of his suit coat as he went. In deference to the weather, he’d layered a sweater under his coat when getting dressed that morning. Lisbon looked up at him and was about to uncurl from her comfortable seat when he waved a hand. “Relax,” he told her, tucking the jacket around her before dropping onto the couch beside her, close but not too close, arm draped along the back of the couch.

For a moment, he thought she was going to shrug the jacket off, but then her hand curled around the edge and she said, “Thanks.”

He smiled and nodded, letting his eyes travel back to the fire. “This is nice,” he said after a moment, the relaxing atmosphere leeching some of the stress from his system.

As he sank back into the cushions, he felt Lisbon shift and settle beside him, her arm pressing into his side and hair brushing his arm behind her head. “Yeah,” she agreed, voice sounding sleepy and he smiled. “If I fall asleep, wake me for dinner.”

“Of course,” he agreed, letting his own eyes drift closed. Getting stranded wasn’t turning out to be such a bad thing after all.

 

Prompt:

"There's something about the look in your eyes  
Something I noticed when the light was just right  
It reminded me twice that I was alive  
And it reminded me that you're so worth the fight  
My biggest fear will be the rescue of me  
Strange how it turns out that way . . ."

\--Echo by Incubus


End file.
